by Ward, Marsha
Mrs. Bingham sniffed and put her apron to her nose.
“Then she …” He stopped talking, reconsidering what to tell about the battle in the stable. He loosened his shoulders. “When the fight was over, the man was dead.”
“My poor Hannah.” Mrs. Bingham wiped her face. “You’re a saint.”
“I’m her husband.” He leaned over, resting his forehead on his hand, bracing his arm against his chest. He remained that way for a time, then straightened up and blurted out, “She’s so angry!”
Mrs. Bingham inhaled sharply. “Not at you?”
“At the babe. She won’t love it.” He turned away, suddenly needing to hide his expression. “That breaks my heart. She must love her child. Sometime.”
“Oh, Mr. Fletcher! Someday she will. I will speak to her.”
He said, “Hmmmm,” and could feel the sound buzzing in his head. Would Hannah’s heart be changed by a conversation with her mother? He doubted that would do the trick.
“Where there’s life, there’s hope, Mr. Fletcher,” said Mrs. Bingham, getting to her feet.
“Ma’am,” he said, rising as well. “I’m sure you can do some good.” He could say that to comfort Mrs. Bingham, but he knew the burden in his heart belied his words.
Chapter 16
Two hard months of travel brought the Bingham party to Pueblo City, Colorado. They camped on the outskirts of town in a meadow surrounded by trees that were just starting to show a hint of color. Before night fell, a buggy drew up near the wagons.
“Hello, the camp,” called a round little man with a top hat perched on his sandy hair. “May we visit?”
Robert walked forward from the fire. “Visitors are always welcome. Step down and sit a spell.”
Three men exited the buggy and moved forward. “Thank you,” said the man who had hailed them. He was accompanied by a tall man in a black coat and by a man of medium build wearing a patterned vest over his shirt.
“Come to the fire,” Robert said, gesturing toward the half circle of three wagons. “Will you take supper with us?”
“No, no, we’ve already et,” said the short spokesman. He doffed his hat and nodded to George and Ned. “We’ve come to give you welcome to our fair city and to inquire if you will be staying hereabouts. I’m the mayor, Abraham Louis, by name, and these two men are members of the city council.” He motioned to his companions.
Robert escorted them to what seats were available, and answered Mayor Louis’s question. “We’re mighty pleased to be here, but we’re only passing through, heading on south. If no one takes it ill, we’d like to rest our animals for a few days, and the ladies would like to do laundry.”
“That’s acceptable to us. There’s a fine creek about a mile in that direction, if you want to remove there tomorrow.”
“Thank you. That’s mighty kind of you to suggest it.”
During the conversation, the tall man had been staring at Robert. He spoke up, his voice mimicking Robert’s drawl.
“Say, haven’t I seen you before? I’d swear I know you.”
Robert drew himself up. “Sir? I’m newly come to this place. I don’t know where we could have met.”
The man turned to Mrs. Bingham and held his pursed lips between his thumb and knuckles as he stared at her. At length he snapped his fingers. “You’re Joseph Bingham’s wife! Where is the man? I’d like to greet him.”
Mrs. Bingham turned white. Robert moved to her side, and she grasped his sleeve. “Sir, why would you know my husband?”
“Hell’s bells, begging your pardon, ma’am, don’t you know me? You’ve been in my store many times.”
“No sir, we’ve barely come here.”
“I don’t mean the store in Pueblo City.” The mayor and the second man tugged on the speaker’s coat, but he persisted and pointed at Robert. “You’re the Fletcher boy, and aren’t you the, hmmm, the Heizer lads?” He gestured at the brothers and snapped his fingers again. “I’ve sold both of you many a piece of penny candy.”
~~~
Jessie gasped, and the men turned toward her. “It’s Mr. Hilbrands. You must remember him. The storekeeper in Mount Jackson. They left with …” She let out her breath in a loud sigh. “He and his family … when the Owens left.”
“Mr. Hilbrands,” Mrs. Bingham said, looking him up and down. “You’ve done well for yourself, getting onto the city council in so short a time. To answer your question, my Joseph died shortly after you left.”
Randolph Hilbrands shook his head mournfully. “I’m most sorry to hear that, ma’am. You better let Rod Owen know when you pass by. He set a lot of store by your husband.”
“We’ll pass by?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. He took up land south of here. He’s raising cattle and grandchildren.” Rand grinned and continued. “The Owen place is about two days’ journey south of here, toward the mountains. Rod and his boys are building that big dream he always had.”
Jessie took a breath and stepped forward. “His boys?” she asked.
“Yes. There’s Rulon, of course, who wed my daughter Mary. They have two fine children, young Roddy and a little baby girl. And Carl and his wife Ellen, you know, the Bates girl? They’re helping out. Clay and Albert are too young to marry yet, but they pull their weight.” He winked at Robert.
Jessie looked at Heppie, then back at Mr. Hilbrands. “And James? You didn’t mention him.”
“Well now, James is away from home. Ellen Bates was supposed to marry him, but she chose Carl. James took it hard. After the wedding, he had a dustup with his pa and he left. He stayed with us for a couple of weeks, sorely wounded in the side from a shootout with some Irish fellow.” Rand put his hand over his right side in illustration of the location of James’s wound. “After he mended, he refused to stay on as my freight driver. He went back south, and that’s the last I heard of him.”
As Mr. Hilbrands told his story, Jessie hunched her shoulders in shock. Heppie placed a hand on her arm, but Jessie shrugged it off, making fists.
“Chester Bates and them are raising wheat down along the Apishapa.” He snapped his fingers. “I recollect that I told James of a job, breaking colts for Angus Campbell. Maybe he’s still there.” He looked over at Jessie and cocked his head. “You might hear more about him from the folks south of here, if you’re curious,” Mr. Hilbrands said.
Jessie looked up. “No,” she said. “I’m not curious in the least.”
The mayor took control of the conversation, said good-bye, and gathered his companions into the buggy. The man in the vest had not said a word during the entire encounter.
~~~
After supper, Jessie left the firelight. Heppie followed and found her sitting some distance away on a hill of sand, two hands over her mouth.
“Jessie, Jessie,” Heppie said, sitting down and patting Jessie’s arm. “What a liar you are! Not curious in the least! I’m sorry you didn’t get any more news of James than what Mr. Hilbrands gave you, but that’s probably for the best. Don’t cry.”
Jessie dropped her hands from her mouth. “I’m not crying,” she said in a firm voice. “I’m screaming. How dare he?”
“How dare who do what?” Heppie asked. “What do you mean?”
“James! How dare he ask Ellen Bates to marry him. He loved me!”
Heppie shifted, adjusting her dress under herself. What on earth could she answer to sooth Jessie’s anger? It seemed justified. James had been so attentive back in Mount Jackson. Once he’d recovered from his war wound, he’d come into town every chance he got so he could pay court to Jessie. Jessie had whispered that James was mentioning marriage. Heppie felt the heat of anger rising in her chest on Jessie’s behalf. How dare he, indeed!
Heppie patted Jessie’s back. “It appears James got his comeuppance when Ellen married Carl instead of him. Don’t think about him. You got over caring about him once, and it’s best to stay that way.”
Jessie raised her face. “That’s my difficulty,” she sa
id. “I never did. I reckon that’s why I’ve kept refusing Mr. Heizer.”
“Ned? He asked you to marry him? I didn’t know he cared for you.”
“He’s always been a good friend, and now he declares he loves me. A while ago he asked me to consider marrying him. I reckon I’m still considering.”
“You should snatch him up, Jessie. If he’s as good a man as George is, why, he’ll treat you very well. I’m sure he’ll make a good living for you, once we get settled.”
“I suppose so.”
Something in Jessie’s voice made Heppie turn to look at her. Jessie’s lips were quivering. Heppie straightened her back. “I reckon he can make you forget James Owen.” Heppie pressed her own lips together and frowned. “James didn’t treat you right, goin’ off to the west, then fixin’ to wed Ellen.”
Jessie sniffed as if her nose were dripping. “That was probably his pa’s doing. Making him ask Ellen.”
“That’s neither here nor there! He’s gone, and Ned wants you.”
Jessie sighed. “I suppose so.” She looked up. “I don’t feel affection for Ned, at least not the kind to want him for a husband.”
Heppie shrugged. “Many girls marry a man without caring for him. You can do that.”
“I’m not certain I can.” Jessie tucked her chin into her chest, and her voice came out muffled. “I don’t want to marry a man unless thinkin’ about him makes my knees go weak. Thinkin’ on James still does that to me.”
Heppie shook Jessie’s shoulder with one hand. “Mercy sakes, Jessie! You ought to consider Ned’s offer real hard and forget that James.” She dropped her hand and sighed. “Come on. It’s nearly bedtime, and we have a wagonload of wash to do tomorrow.”
“Oh, yes, that’s a better subject to think on. Doing the wash.” Jessie laughed as she got to her feet, but there was no mirth in her voice.
~~~
A week later they camped below the Wet Mountains. Crickets chirped in the distance. A soft breeze blew down the side of the hills, bringing with it a chilly touch of autumn.
Mrs. Bingham sat in the flickering light of the waning fire, forking up a last bite of beans. When she’d swallowed it, she put down her fork and looked to Hannah, who sat nearby. Her daughter played with her half-eaten food as though her thoughts were a million miles away.
Mrs. Bingham cleared her throat and asked, “Dearie, did you take enough to feed yourself right? That little babe needs good nourishment.”
Hannah stirred in her seat. “Ma, I don’t want to talk about this …” She paused. “This mound of flesh. I can’t stop it from supping at my vitals, but I don’t have to talk about it.”
“Daughter,” Mrs. Bingham remonstrated, getting to her feet and collecting plates and forks. “Don’t be unnatural. You must count your blessings.”
As others drifted off to do their chores, she carried the dinnerware to a dishpan near her wagon. She got boiling water from the fire, poured it over the dishes, and called out to Heppie, “It’s your turn to wash.”
“Yes, Ma.” Heppie came up and dipped her hand into the water, pulled it out, and shook it. She blew on her fingers. “This water is still too hot, Ma.”
Mrs. Bingham rounded the fire and sat beside Hannah. “It’ll cool down soon enough,” she called.
Hannah clutched her hands together, her head bent over the abandoned plate. Her body seemed to vibrate with tension.
Mrs. Bingham straightened her shoulders. “You have many blessings, Hannah. Chief among them, you didn’t die at that wicked man’s hand. Mr. Fletcher says you punished him gravely.”
Hannah interrupted. “I scratched his face and pulled his hair. That’s not so much.”
“Your husband told me a tale of great bravery on your part, dear. I got him to talk about it one night, and he wept as he told how you struggled.”
“Robert doesn’t weep.”
“Mr. Fletcher has very deep emotions about that day, Hannah. He grieves that you were hurt. He grieves that your heart is so hard toward your babe. He loves you. He swears he will love your child, no matter what.”
“How good he is,” Hannah said, scorn tingeing her words. “How noble. How fine.”
“Hannah! You must not talk that way about your husband. He deserves your respect.”
“He is not the one carrying this bastard child!” Hannah blurted out. “No one blames him. Everyone will praise him to the heavens for his forbearance toward me.”
“Hannah.” Mrs. Bingham’s voice rose firmly. “Robert Fletcher is one of the greatest blessings in your life. Once upon a time you knew that, and cherished his love. You returned it. It grew into a fine, shining thing. Don’t debase it because you had a misfortunate experience with a vile man.”
Hannah’s face went white. “I can’t forget that day.”
“You must try. You must turn your thoughts to your babe, to being a good mother and a good wife. Give thanks each day for your blessings and for your family.”
The anger in Hannah’s face crumbled away, and her hands flew up to hide her face. “Mama,” she said in a little-girl voice. “Don’t scold me so. I can’t bear for you to hate me. I hate myself enough for all the world.”
Mrs. Bingham got up and gathered her daughter into her arms. “There now, dearie,” she crooned, as Hannah cried deep gulping sobs. “Leave go of hate. Where there is life, there is hope. Your dear Robert knows that. He has been strong enough to carry you through this terrible time. Bear him a grateful heart for his fortitude. Don’t turn your back on that gift.”
Hannah turned her stricken face to look up at Mrs. Bingham. “Oh, Mama, I’ve been a dreadful wife.”
“Yes, you have.” Mrs. Bingham stroked Hannah’s back.
“How can I cure that?”
“If you open your heart, you will know what to do, and when the time is right, you will be knit together as one soul again.”
Hannah sniffled. “Can that happen, Mama?”
Mrs. Bingham stood still for a moment, looking at the moon as it rose over the meadow. She turned back to Hannah and hugged her tight. “Your Robert is fixing a snug bed under yonder stand of trees. I am confident he will receive you with all his heart.” She looked again at the moon. “There’s good luck in that light, daughter. Don’t let it go to waste.”
Hannah sat up and got free of her mother’s encircling arms. She took a deep breath and stood up. She seemed to stand taller. “Thank you, Mama. I won’t.”
Mrs. Bingham stepped back and made a shooing motion. “Go on with you,” she said. As Hannah walked away, she whispered, “Good night. May God be with you.”
Chapter 17
By the middle of November, the Bingham party had reached the valley of the Apishapa River below the Mexican town of Leones. They pressed onward, anxious to cross Raton Pass before snow came upon them.
Late one afternoon, they approached a neat farm with fallow fields, pastures, grazing horses, corrals, and outbuildings surrounding a sod house. A teenage boy sat on the top rail of a fence and watched as their caravan drew near. Tied inside the fence was a saddled mouse-colored mustang, its sides flecked with sweat from recent exercise.
“Hello,” Robert called out to the boy as soon as they were in voice range. “Is your pa at home?”
“Yep,” the boy replied. “He’s over yonder in the stable. I’ll go fetch him.”
“Wait a moment,” Robert said, pulled up his team, and wrapped the lines around the brake handle. He smiled at the boy, jumped from the seat to the ground, and walked up to the fence. “We’re looking for a place to spend the night and heard that the Campbells live somewhere around here. I figure you can give us directions.”
The boy said, “Well, I reckon you’ve found it without my help. I’m Andy Campbell. My pa’s name is Angus.” He grinned down at Robert. “You sound a mite familiar.”
Robert took off his hat and brushed at the dust on the crown. “We come from Shenandoah County, Virginia, same as you. Is your pa nearby?”
“No need, Andy. I’ll find my way. Looks like you’re working with that horse. Is he new broke?”
“James Owen worked him some, but he had to go south, so I’m finishing up the job.” He took a deep breath and stood straight, his shoulders back.
“James Owen, huh?” Robert tilted his head, looked at the boy, and nodded. “It’s a good thing to take pride in a job well done.” George and Ned had joined Robert by this time, and they watched Andy climb the fence into the corral, mount the mustang, and gently kick it into a series of turns before they strode off toward the stable.
~~~
“Angus Campbell?” Robert asked as they entered the stable.
Angus turned his head at the sound of his name, rose from his seat, and extended his hand.
“Welcome, gentlemen. By your voices, I’d say you’re from my old neck of the woods.”
“We are. I’m Robert Fletcher, and these men are George and Ned Heizer.”
“From Mount Jackson?”
Robert nodded. “I worked there in the bank. George and Ned had the dairy outside of town. We’re traveling down to New Mexico Territory with Mrs. Bingham and her boy Luke. George and I married the twin daughters.”
“Mrs. Bingham? Alone? I take it Joseph didn’t survive his wounds?”
“No sir,” Robert replied. “Mr. Bingham took sick and died soon after y’all left. Max Bingham went west before his pa died. He sent word to invite the family to join him.”
“Your timing is off. Most folks come through here in the summertime.”
George jumped into the conversation. “Well sir, we planned to leave next spring, but things got hurried up a mite. The old town wasn’t pleasant for us anymore.”
Robert nodded, shifting his feet a bit.
Angus said, “It’s getting on toward suppertime. Will you and your party take nourishment with us and stay the night?”